


See No Sign of Pain

by AstroGirl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Honeymoon, M/M, Post-Canon, Weather, possible signs of the apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: On the four hundred and thirty-seventh day of their honeymoon, on the southern coast of Italy, it begins raining blood.Well, maybe.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39
Collections: Genprompt Bingo Round 17





	See No Sign of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Gen Prompt Bingo, for the prompt "Sirocco." It also, after months of writing, finally completes my blackout bingo! HOORAY!
> 
> This was definitely the most challenging prompt on the card. I had to do some actual research for this one!
> 
> Title is stolen from "Red Rain" by Peter Gabriel, because how could I not?

On the four hundred and thirty-seventh day of their honeymoon, on the southern coast of Italy, it begins raining blood.

The waiter who's been serving their drinks all evening joins them where they stand at the window, staring wide-eyed and silent at the crimson downpour, and laughs. "Don't worry, my friends," he says. "It is not the end of the world!"

"You're sure about that, are you?" Crowley says. His voice is a sardonic drawl, laced with a thread of panic that perhaps only someone who has known him as long as Aziraphale has can hear. 

Without taking his eyes from the window, the angel reaches out and grips his spouse's hand. "If it is," he says, very quietly, "I'm sure it can be stopped again. And if it can't..."

"At least we've had this before we go?" says Crowley. His tone is flippant, now, but his hand tightens desperately in Aziraphale's own.

The waiter only looks amused. "Quite certain, yes," he says. "It is only red dust, you know. Not blood! The sirocco winds pick it up from Africa sometimes, and bring it here. I assure you, there is nothing to be afraid of."

They look at each other, uncertainty meeting uncertainty in their eyes, and, still holding hands, they move to the door.

Crowley reaches his free hand through the doorway. The rain splashes wet and red across his palm. Slowly he pulls his hand back in, raises fingertips to his lips.

Aziraphale looks at him nervously. A long moment passes.

"He's right," Crowley says, at last. "It's only dust. Look."

He holds his hand out for the angel to inspect. It is. It is only wet, red dust.

Crowley waves his hand, miracling it clean. 

Aziraphale lets out a shaky, uneven laugh. "Oh, good," he says. "Not that I was worried, you know. Not truly. But..."

"Yeah," says Crowley. "Me either. Not worried at all."

They stand there for another long moment, staring out at the rain. 

Then they go back inside and have another drink.


End file.
